owners in the County, and we were marched into the doctor’s vestry for examination; here the doctor made us all strip—­men and women together naked, in the presence of each other while the examination went on.  When it was concluded, thirty-eight of us were pronounced sound, and three unsound; certificates were made out and given to the auctioneer to that effect.  After dressing ourselves we were all driven into the slave sty directly under the auction block, when the jail warder came and gave to every slave a number, my number was twenty.  Here, let me explain, for the better information of the reader, that in the inventory of the slaves to be sold all go by number—­one, two, three, and so on; and if a man and his family are to be sold in one lot, then one number covers them all; but if separate, then they have all different numbers.  An old friend of mine, belonging to William Steel, was also with his wife and six children in the same sty, all to be sold.  The youngest was a babe in arms, the other five were large enough to walk; his number was twenty-one, but his wife’s number was thirty-three, and notwithstanding the mournful idea of parting with relations and friends on the plantation, up to this moment they had indulged a hope of being sold as a family, together; but the numbers revealed the awful disappointment.  Even in this hoped for consolation, the painful distress into which this poor woman was thrown, it is beyond my ability to describe.  The anguish of her soul, evinced by the mournful gaze first at her children and then at her husband, made me forget for the time being, my own sufferings and sorrows.  Her looks seemed to say to her husband—­these are your children, I am their mother—­there is no other being in this world that I have to look to for love and protection; cant you help me?  I am very much mistaken if these were not the thoughts running through that poor broken-hearted mother’s mind.  Reuben, for that was his name, called his wife and children into one corner of the sty, and repeated a verse of a hymn which may be found in Watts’ hymn book:—­

    “Ah, whither shall I go,
      Burthened, or sick, or faint;
    To whom shall I my troubles show,
      And pour out my complaint.”

Not daring to sing it for fear of disturbing the sale, they both knelt down with the children, and Reuben offered up a long and fervent prayer.  In the interval of his prayer nineteen of the slaves were sold, and he had not concluded when my number being twenty was called, and my master handed me out under the hammer; when, after a few preliminary remarks on the part of the auctioneer, my master mounted the auction block and recommended me as a good field hand, a good cook, waiter, hostler, a coachman, gentle and willing, and above all, free from the disease of running away.  So after a short and spirited bidding I went at 1,025 dollars.  Here the sale policeman, whose business it was to take charge of the negroes